Lost
by so nice so smart
Summary: Mrs. Lovett ponders her love for Sweeney over a cup of gin, and ends up getting more than she bargained for. I do not own any of these characters!


Helllo!:D This is my first try posting a story here! Woo! *runs around in happy circles* Have actually written a whole bunch of stories before but I've never gotten around to posting them. OMG SO EXCITED!! lol And on to the story!

Lost

Mrs. Lovett had always thought she was a strong woman. Aside from Albert's death, she took grief rather well, always being able to handle things properly. She prided herself on never losing her head.

So, she asked herself, why was she sitting here, in her shop, a small pool of tears forming on the table beneath her arms? She gripped her glass tightly, taking in another generous swig. The gin burned her throat as it went down.

How blind men could be, she thought. And cruel as well. The reason for her tears was above her pie shop, pacing, oblivious to all else. To her love, especially, she added, taking another drink. Already her vision began to blur, and she wiped away the persistent tears that flowed freely down her cheeks.  
He would _never_ love her. It was so obvious, but to her heart it was a hard blow, leaving it in pitiful shards. And the more she acknowledged it, the harder she cried. And somewhere in herself, she felt like she was slipping away, losing herself amidst her pain.

She let herself go, slipping inside herself without another thought. Her sobs sounded far away as she stood, stumbling drunkenly to the counter. She watched in fascination as a few tear drops spattered on the grimy surface, leaving clean streaks. How she wished life was that easy. To be able to wipe away something useless as her love.

She hadn't realized she'd opened the drawer until she heard the clink of the knives shifting as her hands rummaged about, seeking the sharpest knife. Her hands never stopped moving until she felt her fingers wrap around the cool, silvery blade. She knew her actions were risky. But what did it matter? He didn't love her. There was no use in lingering on this God forsaken world like a ghost.

She lifted the knife, watching the sunlight glance off it in different directions. She wondered what it was about those damned razors that captivated him so. She'd often find him staring at them with such concentration. As if they themselves, those blood stained razors, were his precious Lucy.  
She laughed bitterly.

She placed her wrist against the counter, steadying it. It was over in a quick slice, but it hurt nonetheless. She stared down at the cut. It wasn't enough to kill herself, she knew, but it was enough nonetheless. She saw nothing in the rubies he spoke of. Only pain. She jumped, hearing the thud of another body falling into the basement. More supplies. Well, that body would have to wait. She made her way back to the booth in which she had been sitting slowly, paying no attention to the red that was slipping down her wrist.

She never made it to the booth.

A hand wrapped around her injured wrist, yanking her back. She stumbled and collided into something surprisingly solid. Regret and fear burned within her, and she was hesitant to look up, for she already knew who her captor was. Inexplicable rage burned in his eyes. His face, pale and serious, was all she could focus on. His grip on her wrist tightened, and she let out a whimper of pain. Oh, God, how it hurt! His eyes flickered down to their intertwined, bloody hands, and then locked on hers again.

"Mrs. Lovett," he drawled. "Why is it that you have suddenly felt you the urge to inflict harm on yourself?"

She froze, lowering her eyes. What was she going to say? Images of the sea flashed before her eyes for the slightest second, and she bit her lip before answering "You."

He let go of her wrist in shock, and she immediately retreated, cradling her arm. _What could she mean by that? She couldn't **possibly..** _

He looked up at her again, and the sight nearly broke his heart. Or, rather, what was left of it. She was hunched over in the booth, staring into the glass of gin she held. Tears slid down her cheeks, fastening her loose auburn curls to her pallid skin. He felt a tightening in his chest. Did he love her? She'd done everything he'd ever asked of her. She cut apart his customers and made them into pies. She went hours into the night cleaning her shop, disposing of the bodies. All this time she'd been enslaved to his every command without a complaint because of her love for him. The thought hit him like a slap. And he suddenly knew his answer.

_What of Lucy?_ The thought came unbidden, and he started in surprise. Lucy. His beloved wife, his angel. He missed her, yes. But he couldn't live his life mourning over a dead woman. He had to move on. _What's dead is dead,_ she'd said to him once. He supposed she was right.

He found himself reaching out to her, and she shrank away from his touch, eyes glassy with tears. It hurt to see her like this, so distant and heart broken. He would make it up to her.

"Mrs. Lovett," he pleaded, "Please. Forgive me. I had no idea."

She hiccuped slightly, never looking up at him as she retorted, "Of course you didn't."

"I love you." he said quietly. She looked up, eyes widened. "What?" she asked, incredulous. He held his hand out to her. "I love you." he replied, more firmly.

She took his hand uncertainly, and he held her close, brushing away her tears. She let him bandage her wrist, all the while silent with, what he assumed was, shock.

"Nellie." he said, and she looked up at him. He examined her face. Pale. She was so pale. The half moons under her eyes, dark and prominent, her high cheek bones. And her hair. Wild and unruly. It seemed almost elegant. He reached out and caught a soft tendril of it between his fingers, and she watched cautiously. She didn't deserve to be mistreated. All her life she'd been tormented and stressed. She deserved better.

He brushed his lips against hers, and she melted into his arms. She was so warm. He pressed a hand to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss. She pulled away gently and embraced him,  
crying steadily.  
"I was so afraid this was a dream," she whispered. He smiled and kissed her again. "I can assure you this is real, my pet." he said.  
He had decided. He was letting Lucy go. He loved the baker.

Burying her head contentedly into his chest, she decided she was just another lost cause. But this time, she had something to live for.

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Righty-o. REVIEWS!! Tell me if it sucked, rocked, was ok, or barftastic. This is my first story so please be nice!


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